She Felt Better Today
by Onileo
Summary: Sig recalls Izumi's last day. Set between the anime and the movie. Rated for character death.


Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.

A/N: I'd like to dedicate this one shot to all mothers, whose greatest worry will always be the well being of their little ones, no matter how old they are.

She Felt Better Today

It was the day after she sent Alphonse away. She had slept well that night, barely coughing at all. I awoke to the sound of her busy in the shop, cutting steaks from the beef that had been delivered the evening before. I told her she should be resting, but she just shook her head, saying she felt better than she had in years. I watched her work for a few minutes, deftly handling her favorite butcher knife. Her strokes were precise, perfected from two decades of practice. When I again suggested she stop and rest, she sent her trimming knife my way, burying it in the wall inches from my head. I never flinched, knowing her aim was perfect as well, and silently I withdrew the knife from the hole-riddled wall and returned it to her.

When she finished the side she was working on, she started for another, until I grabbed her by the wrist, bringing her into a hug. I told her that I was closing the shop for today, and she should pack a lunch, because we were going out. And so, I drug her away from the house, away from the smells of cold meat and blood soaked wood. We headed to her favorite spot, the park. It was small, befitting our little town, with a playground, a pond, and a hill with a bent tree standing sedately at the top. This is where we stopped, and sitting down, we watched the children playing, completely unburdened by the worries of the world. She watched them, and I watched her, the way the morning light made her skin look not so pale and the way she smiled, that small, sad smile of hers. I knew it hurt her to watch the kids, made her feel a regret she didn't deserve, but she wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

Finally the children noticed us, and they came running up the hill, flocking around their favorite teacher. They chattered excitedly, asking her a million questions and telling her stories about things that seemed important only to the very young. She listened to them all patiently, answering what questions she could, turning down the dozen requests for her to fix this thing or that. After several minutes, she sent them scurrying back to their play. Then she leaned heavily against me, resting her head on my arm. I asked her if she was tired and wanted to go home, but again she shook her head. She thanked me for bringing her here. She returned to watching the children, occasionally yelling down the hill whenever a fight broke out.

Around noon, we decided to eat our lunch on the lake. We walked to the dock, where our boat bobbed on the water, held to the shore only by its short length of rope. It was beginning to gray with age, and the wood creaked whenever it rocked, but it was still more than water worthy. After settling in, I rowed us out to the middle. The shore was nearly out of sight, and the island in the middle was a large bump on the horizon. Pulling the oars up and securing them, I let the boat drift where it will. We ate in a comfortable silence, in no hurry to break the peace that had settled around us. Several times I saw her head turn toward Yock Island. Whenever she did, I could watch the emotions play out on her face as memories assaulted her.

I asked her if she was all right, and she'd smile her sad smile and nod. We finished eating, and I slid off the seat to sit in the bottom of the boat. I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her. She sat in front of me, back against my stomach, and laid her head on my chest. She closed her eyes, and I did the same. We listened to the gentle lapping of the water against the boat and the sounds of the world as it carried on. Her breathing became steady and even as she lightly dozed against me. I let the rhythmic sound lull my mind and soon the sounds around me faded and I, too, fell asleep.

A couple hours later, I awoke with a horrible pain in my neck. My head had tilted back to rest on the bench in the boat, and my muscles were tightly cramped. Lifting my head, I rubbed the stiffness out. That was when it hit me that I was alone. Looking around, I noticed that the boat had come to rest on a beach. The wildness of the vegetation beyond it told me exactly where we had landed. Yock Island. Her footprints stood out in the sand, leading toward the interior of the island. I jumped out onto the beach and drug the boat further up onto the shore. Not bothering to yell for her, I began following her trail, even though it wasn't necessary. There was only one place she would go to.

After a few minutes of walking, she came into sight. There she was, in the exact spot where she had tried to resurrect our son. She was standing amongst the broken rocks and rubble, her back to me. I walked silently up to her and laid my hand on her shoulder. She jumped, as if she had been asleep still. Looking up at me, she smiled. I had expected her to be crying. Instead, she wore a serene expression on her face, as if she had finally come to terms with the loss she had carried for all these years. Turning back to face the stones around us, she began to talk about her boys.

"This place," she started "it's the only one where all of my sons were with me at once. And of course, they had to start fighting." she said, shaking her head.

Her sons. Edward, Alphonse, even the one who never lived long enough to be given a name. The one who wandered the world now as an alchemic abomination. Wrath. She talked about how proud she was of them, her maternal love showing in her voice. She may not have given birth to all of them, but they were hers. Her fondest memories poured fourth, examples of the boys' best traits. Edward's intelligence, Alphonse's kindness, and Wrath's strength and determination. I listened quietly to her, my heart breaking in her place. If only things had gone differently, she would still have them. But life was what it was, and her sons were now scattered on the wind like dandelion fluff, and we were alone.

Suddenly, her illness decided she had had enough of a reprieve, and she fell to her knees, coughing. Her shoulders shook as blood poured from her mouth. After several minutes, the fit subsided, and she tried to stand, only to fall back to the ground, her face resting on the stone beneath her. Crouching down, I picked her up and turned back towards the beach. She glared at me, but I held tight. She hated being carried, hated for me to see her weakness. But she was never weak. She was the strongest woman, no, person I have ever met. And she had been strong for long enough. By the time we had reached the boat, she had closed her eyes and was dozing in my arms.

The trip home was quiet. By the time we got there she was awake again, talking about what she should make for supper. I told her not to worry about it, but she insisted. So I set her down in the kitchen and helped her prepare it. As usual, she cooked enough to feed an army. We had just set the table when a low knock sounded on the door. She went to answer it, and a moment later, I heard her gasp. I walked to the doorway to see what was wrong. There, standing with his head hanging and his hair in his face, was Wrath. His human limbs were gone, in their place a well built set of auto-mail, no doubt the creation of Winry Rockbell.

She embraced him, then guided him into the house and towards the kitchen. He had tried to kill her once, and still she welcomed him back. She sat him down at the table and told him to eat. He lifted his head, and his dark purple eyes looked so sad, only a shadow of their former hatred showing. We sat down then, and as we ate, Wrath told us everything he knew about what happened to Edward and Alphonse after they went to Central. He told her about Dante's new identity, the end of the Homunculi, and how Edward and Alphonse sacrificed their lives for each other. This last part seemed to affect him deeply, and he sat their and cried like the lost child he appeared to be. She just shook her head and called them all fools for not listening to her. Then she thanked him for filling in the gaps that Alphonse's lost memory had left blank.

After dinner, we went to the living room and sat, quietly talking. Wrath asked her if she would be his mommy again. Of course, she said yes. He smiled, and curled up on the couch, his head in her lap. She stroked his hair, untangling the knots and removing the bits of leaves and debris from where he had slept outside. He was soon asleep, one hand wrapped around her arm. I'll never forget the smile on her face. She looked so happy, happier than I had ever seen her. Silently, I got up and went to turn down the spare bed for him. When I returned, she was staring straight ahead, still smiling, her hand hanging limply over Wrath's sleeping body.

I called out to her, already knowing in my heart that she was gone. Her mind had finally given up, and allowed the weakness of her body to claim her soul. The sound of my voice woke Wrath, and when he realized what had happened, he screamed for his mommy, shaking her shoulders, trying to wake her up. I just stood there in shock, watching as the child clung to her, the tears from his eyes wetting them both. Then he turned to me, demanding to know what had happened, why she had gone to the gate when he had just found her again. I explained her illness to him, but I don't think it got through to him. He just screamed again and ran out the door, disappearing into the night.

Now, here I stand, in this garden of cold, hard stones, monuments to the warmth that the world has lost. Most of the village is with me, and the children are crying. There are no words to describe the pain, it can only be felt. Wrath is not here, but I know he is close by. I can occasionally hear his hopeless wails echoing through the trees. But even in the midst of my despair, I cannot be completely sad. She had felt better than she had in years and she got her greatest wish. Her son was returned to her. I lay my hand on the unforgiving marble as tears finally make their way down my cheeks.

"...Izumi..."

The End


End file.
